Shard of Glass
by badfaith
Summary: More than one mirror can be shattered.


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Title: Shards of Glass

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Chapter: One-Shot  
**Authors name: **badfaith

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Author's Website: http://nightfall.undisguised.net  
**Category:** Angst  
**Sub Category: **Drama   
**Rating:** PG

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Summary: More than one mirror can be shattered.

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to the HP books.

Cold – the icy hating. So cold sometimes I think it burns. It traps my heart and hardens me; I am an icy winter wasteland. To find a cure, I would give my life. For one to melt the statue of my heart, and wipe away the hot tears that washes away the glass in my eye. For one such as that I would kill myself in silent worship; no uttered words of love. It takes away my emotions and leaves me with the bitterness of rejection, humiliation, and hate. Hate I will welcome. It is a sort of perversion of love, thus for the time when I feel the firing blaze of coolness I can almost taste heat. It comes the greatest when I am near you. Your furnace of feelings blasts me with fire; I revel in the ecstasy it creates. I will do anything to feel it.

Even my blood is cold. Running blue and sluggish through my veins. I can see it, barely sustaining me. 

I am like a depraved addict, now. I want your blood, your fire, filling me and melting my control. I search you out, yearning for the feel of your _being_. 

You are alone. The coldness waits at your back; snarling and howling to be let in, it's great maw bearing sharp razor teeth. I feel it waiting for an invitation it is sure you will extend. 

I want to cry out that if you lose yourself in ice, where will my cure be? My drought of life, of living, the only thing that is sustaining me day-by-day. But I see you shake your head, and brush off death's extended finger. You do not need me to remind you. It was harder, though, this time. You are weary and exhausted with the effort. Your shoulders slump with burdens, and your body falls to the floor. I see your body shake; I know that those fiery streaks of warmth coursing down your cheeks are yours alone. You do not cry for anyone now but yourself.

I walk over, unsure in my actions. But I need your heat, your passion, as much as the others also need you.

I place my pale hand on your shaking shoulder, hesitantly, afraid. You look up at me, your face red from crying, and your large emerald eyes alight with a strange fairy glistening. 

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Malfoy? He whispers into the air, an interruption into the quiet night.

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Shhh. I answer, kneeling down and enveloping him in my arms.

He stiffens for a moment under my touch, then his body relaxes in a giant sigh. He scoots closer, resting his face on my chest. We are silent for a long time. I can feel his hot tears soaking through my cloak, reaching my skin. I can feel them thawing my heart, that icy organ in my chest. 

The melted ice seeps out of me, tracing lines down my white cheeks, falling into his hair. He looks up, and smiles. He can feel the warmth now generating in my long unused heart. 

We kiss then; a gentle meeting of souls in harmony and understanding. He fills my veins with heat, and I am no longer the cold being I once was.

He knew, I'm sure, what had happened to me that night. He gave me warmth, and in return I gave him understanding, comfort, and love. 

No icy fingers of death crept towards us anymore. We were one being; one soul. 

I do not think he knew that mirrors do not shatter only once. 

And in the end I could not save him. The shard of glass was wedged so tight in his heart I could not pull it out. So I laid there, the warmth seeping slowly away as Death cackled gleefully. It had tricked us, only morphing into something else until we could not detect it. 

Too late I understood. I had already been enveloped by death, that night. He saw, and in his love, had taken that coldness away from me. He had let the ice enter him, afraid that if it touched me again he would not be able to rescue me once more. And in the end it had overtaken him. His once brilliant emerald eyes dimmed as he looked into my gray ones. He tried, but unsuccessfully, to shrug the icy fingers one last time. 

I could not take it. My saviour lay dying in my arms; unable to fight off what he had once been able to without a thought. I stood, and in that last wave of cold, covered his body with mine. It hit me full force, and after I had buffeted it away, I looked down at my love. 

He had not seen me conquer Death, he had not seen me win. His face was turned away, his eyes lifeless. He could not bear me sacrificing myself for him, and had looked away. Now he lay dead. 

He had not believed in me.

I walked away from the gray corpse, and I searched for my meaning. One day I walked into a shop, and saw my reflection in the mirror on the wall. It was not me; it was Death, laughing in eternal triumph. I snarled and smashed the glass. Shards spun everywhere, carried in the wind to far-off places. I laughed, knowing now how mirrors were shattered. It was not was some evil plan of destruction.

It was the simple mechanism of glancing into a mirror and coming to the realization of who you really are. 

I can still see Death gloating.


End file.
